Deserving of the Mirror
by JennMaryn
Summary: There are two sides to every story . . . and then, there is Nessarose. Wicked from Nessa's POV
1. New Beginnings

**Author's Note: Hey all, I just want to say a few things before I post this. First off, this fic is set in musical verse (therefore, Nessarose is not religious) and, with the exception of a few changes to the dialogue and the ending scene coming up, it is based quite strictly off of the canon. I do tend to write Elphaba's personality as more book verse, however, and Nanny does exist in this story, but those are the only differences for now. **

**Nessarose has always been such a great, underrated character to me, and my goals in writing this are to get more people to analyze deeper into her being. She is not a simple side character. She is extremely important to the story and very complex. If I get at least one person to see that, I will have succeeded.**

**Happy reading.  
**

* * *

Elphaba peered down into the infant basket, her eyes vivid; full of questioning and inquisitiveness. What the toddler saw inside stunned her like no other. A baby, no larger than a small cat - for Elphaba had seen (and impersonated) many wild cats alike in the cornfields - asleep, her breathing somewhat brisk and labored . . . her little legs out at a funny angle, wrapped and unmoving in her slumber. Elphaba crinkled her brow. She was . . . a different color than her. The right color.

And she was more beautiful than anything she had ever seen.

Frex, who had allowed Elphaba a few moments to look upon his new infant daughter, finally spoke, his tone stoic and a bit crisp, his face showing traces of age. "This is Nessarose, Elphaba; my daughter. Your . . . sister. She is very delicate. _Not_ a plaything. You are not to touch or play with her, and you are not to go near her without my permission. Do you understand?" He looked at her severely; Elphaba met his gaze, but said nothing in response; only giving him a bit of a challenging expression. "_She is not to be played with_." Elphaba held his glance for a few moments longer, and then looked back down at the baby once again, far more fascinated with her than with her father's harsh tone.

She reached down, slowly, her green wrist contrasting against the covers within the basket. She wanted to touch this strange, new person - see if she was really alive. But Frex tapped her hand, a bit roughly, and shook his head. "I just said no, Elphaba!"

"What's she up to, Frex - where is the little frog?" Nanny was heard before she was seen, and she suddenly came hobbling into the room. She stopped instantly upon noticing the baby, her eyes widening.

Frex shook his head, as if he knew what was coming. "She's asleep; that's all she's been doing since I took a leave for home. Don't wake her."

Nanny, edging closer to the basket next to Elphaba, leaned down, and peered in. Still taken with the infant, Elphaba did the same, her green fingers gripping the edges.

". . . Her legs . . . always going to be like that?" Nanny asked Frex, looking up after a few moments.

"Yes. They are completely unusable to her and always will be, according to the midwife." He sounded exhausted. Elphaba blinked owlishly at those words.

Nanny tsked. "The poor duckie."

She met Frex's sad eyes and smiled painfully.

"Well, don't worry yourself Frex, it will work out alright!" She said, walking away from the basket and toward him to give him a light, supportive tap on the shoulder. Frex did not look up. The old woman smiled and continued to speak. "Despite the situation the poor dear's lucky to be alive at all! You've still got her, we all do! And she's a beaut, an absolute dearie - why, she's got Melena's cheeks, I can see that already."

Frex seemed pained by the mention of Melena, but nodded. "She is our child in most every way."

They continued to speak about Nessa's living arrangements for a while, both adults feeling saddened and overwhelmed . . . hollow, really. A new baby should be a blessing, but a handicapped one seemed less a cause of celebration to Frex, and an absent mother . . . Nanny was making light of it all, but he could see through her fallacy; she was just as doubtful as he._ At least, he thought, the child was not green. Handicapped. But not green._

Elphaba was paying them no mind. Instead, she had seated herself next to the basket, studying Nessarose as if she were a new species of animal. Realizing that she was no longer being watched, she reached down into the basket to run a finger over the sleeping child; her touch was so light that it did not wake her. Nessa's skin felt smooth and soft, unlike any human she had ever touched, and even though she appeared weak, Elphaba felt a strange sensation - as if there was buried, unknown power radiating from their contact.

Nessa.

Nanny and Frex had wandered toward the far corners of the room, their backs turned to the children, discussing in fervent, hushed voices what ought to be done.

"She is to sleep in the master chambers, close to me. I do not want any harm to be brought upon her. She is defenseless."

"All babies are defenseless, Frex," Nanny croaked sympathetically; reasonably.

"She is more so. She will remain by my side at all times, and that is final."

"And where will Elphaba sleep, then? That is her room, or have you forgotten."

"Where ever she likes." Frex seemed to curl his lip. "Elphaba does not hold discretion over where she sleeps, Nanny; the child would curl up in the arms of a wolf in the yard."

"And just as well," Nanny said, almost laughing. "She loves those wolves, she does."

"This is not about Elphaba! This is about Nessa, my daughter, Nessa. I cannot take care of a handicapped child alone, Nanny; I cannot. What of me if something happens to her? I cannot protect her alone."

"You can, you can! I will be here to help you, Frex; come off it, you're scaring yourself."

Frex brought his palm to his forehead, closing his eyes. "I already feel as though I've failed."

Nanny didn't speak for a moment; she felt, quite frankly, that perhaps he had. It was not the best start, after all.

"Melena is dead. My little Nessarose is disabled. She can barely cry."

"She's alive," Nanny repeated smoothly.

"And I don't want Elphaba anywhere near her," Frex said, suddenly angry, lifting his head away from his hand. "That child will break her as quickly as she breaks anything I give her, the way she plays. Like the devil. You keep her away from Nessa."

"Shhh, Frex. The kiddies have ears, you know," Nanny said, simply, patting his arm with a bit of indifference. "That's rubbish talk. Elphaba is her sister."

"Elphaba is half dragon."

"Well, Melena would have wanted it."

Frex's eyes became intense. "How should you know what Melena wants?"

"Oh, Frex; don't be a **ninny**. Times are hard, but you have your poppets, don't you? Things will straighten up! Now pull yourself together, you look like a bit of a fool there; governor of Munchkinland cannot have scruff, can he now? Yes, you listen to me, wise old Frex - I know beyond my years and THAT is many - that child is going to grow up loved like no other, as if she had no disability, as if she were just like the rest, if you know what is good for you. You never showed this type of concern for Elphaba, and look how she's turning out now."

Frex seemed distracted, nodding off into the distance as he glanced quickly at Elphaba. "Nessarose is our child in every way," he repeated, reflecting his previous statement.

"Mother."

"And furthermore-" Nanny stopped, mid sentence, surprised at the sudden voice. She looked behind her; Frex followed her gaze.

Little Elphaba had toddled up to them, her eyes narrowed in intense wonder; innocent wonder, but one could tell she did indeed know something was off. The two adults watched her for a moment; she spoke again.

"Where is… mother?" She tried, more courageously this time.

Nanny walked forward a bit, stopped in front of Elphaba, and told her the truth.

"Your mother is not coming home, dearie."

"Don't you dare tell her-" Frex was leering at Nanny.

"Oh, what's the sense in hiding the truth from her? Children have to learn, Frex," Nanny continued, calmly. "Your mother is asleep with the fishies, duckie."

Elphaba squinted more, not understanding the metaphor. "Why?" She decided on.

"She's dead, little frog. Gone. Buried."

"Yes," Frex finally spoke. "Yes . . . Melena is . . . dead."

Elphaba blinked, and looked from one adult to the other.

Frex was still glaring, viciously, at his own words, but this time, his subject was not Nanny.

It was Elphaba.


	2. Before Shiz

**Author's Note: I hope the pace of this story is not confusing; I know it goes by quickly. I am only writing significant moments in Nessarose's life. The first part of this is a few years after the first chapter, and then the second part is a few years more. Thank you very much for your reviews!**

* * *

The time after a rain was always ideal for a walk. The run-off had collected in puddles around Munchkinland, making everything appear marshy and slosh when stepped on. The air smelled sweet as the scent of fresh rain lingered; a few occasional drops fell from the Quoxwood trees, and rippled as they met the temporary puddles on the ground.

Frex had Nessarose strapped to his back, carrying her securely as he made his way through the field. Elphaba, now seven years of age, sloshed behind them, her ankle-high boots protecting her skin from the wet.

The fresh air was said to help Nessa's development; do her good. Frex had always insisted on taking these evening strolls with his daughter, heeding such advice whenever he could help it. Though he had told Elphaba she did not have to come, little Elphaba had always insisted. She felt a need to stay close to her young sister, as if the instinct was ingrained in her mind, and the indifference she felt to such an emotion proved it so. She seemed to know no other way to be.

Nessarose was growing at a healthy rate. Despite her legs, she was a normal, inquisitive child - very smart, very observant, and very behaved. Much like her sister, really, but, in Frex's eyes, an improvement . . . and, perhaps, a little more dignified. From a young age he knew she would be the Governor. Nessarose watched the birds (and Birds alike) on the sill with Elphaba; questioned the world with Elphaba . . . watched her older sister help dress, help wash, and help care for her. In the short years since she had been born, despite Frex's apprehension and general resentment, it was Elphaba who cared for Nessa the most; it was Elphaba who tended to her without any sort of complaint - with the most tenderness. It was always Elphaba who had held her and bottle fed her when she was an infant; always Elphaba who insisted on positioning Nessa when she had to sit upright; always Elphaba who responded to Nessa's nightmares. Frex hadn't wanted to allow it at first, but by now he had accepted it as an extreme convenience; Elphaba could get Nessarose to do things he could not, and, admittedly, seemed to understand the child more than him at times. But he still protected his younger daughter at all costs from her reckless behavior. And, to his relief, despite their time together, Nessa had not seemed to adopt her sister's mannerisms. She was a calm child - Elphaba still retained her ostracism and outspokenness in her independent, distant way.

And Nessarose loved her sister. She depended, fiercely, on her sister. Green had not developed in Nessa's perception as a negative abnormality; rather a relief. A comfort. When she saw that green flash from the corner of her pretty little eye, she felt the same way she felt about her father, whom she also loved dearly. _Help. A friend._

_A sister._

"See, Nessa - where the clouds part over there, and the forest clears a bit?" Frex pointed to the distance, smiling fondly. "That is Gillikin; home of the rich and industrious. And the Emerald City should be somewhere . . . " He narrowed his eyes, searching the distance for said location.

"Father," Elphaba said, approaching him, speaking to him in a quiet, submissive tone. "Can I show Nessa the toadstools at the pond?"

"No, Elphaba; you will tire her out," Frex said sternly. "And this is the third time you've asked me in a week. Learn your manners."

Elphaba, sadly, lowered her head, kicking at a pile of dirt with her oversized boots. _"Nessa would have liked to see the stupid toadstools,"_ she thought, bitterly. They came out only once a year.

* * *

"Elphaba, what are you doing?" A perplexed, preteen Nessa asked fearfully, her eyes widening as Elphaba glared at the back of munchkin boy's head. They were both standing outside of their grounds; Elphaba had been wheeling Nessarose home from a long trip to the village in order to pick up various ingredients for Nanny's tonic.

"He is laughing at you," she replied, angrily, her hand clutching Nessa's forearm, the fingers gripping her tighter with each passing moment.

"Don't worry about it," Nessarose commanded, swallowing, averting her gaze away gently. The trivial things others did did not matter to her. She was used to being looked at differently; used to being pitied, or fussed over, or laughed at. One of the three was no surprise to her.

Nessarose spoke again when Elphaba did not loosen her grip. "Please Elphaba - you're scaring me!"

But she was ignored as the boy's laughter was cut off by a loud "oomph!" - he slipped and fell, on nothing at all, and landed on his face. Elphaba's gaze had not moved an inch. She was concentrating; her brow furrowed, her stature stiff. A puff of smoke and large crack, and the munchkin boy, now terrified, crawled away as quickly as he could, scrambling to get to his feet.

Nessarose could not bear it. Her sister was causing harm to others - she would have none of it, especially not for her sake!

"Elphaba!" She screamed, terrified. "Stop! Please! Don't!"

Elphaba sneered, and then, at last, seemingly hearing her sister's words, softened. She let go of Nessa's arm and looked at her, her expression still severe, but less so. The boy seized his opportunity and booked it across the pavement, out of view, never to bother the Governor's daughter again.

Nessarose, breathing rapidly, her heart rate heightened because of the terrifying sight she had just witnessed, waited a few moments before addressing Elphaba. Gripping her chair and sitting stiffly against the backrest, she spoke.

"Why . . . why didn't you tell me you could do that?"

Elphaba avoided her gaze, then answered, in a bit of a mumbling tone. "I… didn't know."

"Are you magic?"

"I can't control it."

"It's happened before?"

"No."

Nessarose, perplexed, leaned forward.

"Then how do you know?"

"I was too angry and I couldn't control it," Elphaba answered again, simply. She seemed as though she didn't want to talk about it.

For a long moment, Nessarose sat in silence, staring ahead at the ground. Her sister had seemed almost dangerous, and for one of the first times in her life, she felt herself afraid of Elphaba.

"Please, don't get angry again," Nessarose found herself begging; for once, she wanted to not be a spectacle . . . and what would Elphaba's quirk do but cause people to look? To think someone might be harmed out of pity they held for her . . . even if it was her sister's pity . . .

Elphaba frowned and looked at the ground. "I'll try."

* * *

That night, however, over dinner, it happened again.

"Elphaba," Frex asked, after Nanny had served him his portion. "I told you to stop feeding the Rats in the front manor."

Nessarose bit her lip; she had agreed to keep this a secret. She hadn't been happy about keeping it from her Father - he sometimes did know best, and Elphaba, though smart, thought she knew _everything_ - but she had done it, for it was important to her.

"They're hungry, Father," Elphaba said, avoiding his eyes. "They need food. It's been hard since the Cats moved in."

"I told you not to feed the Rats and that is final. I don't care what their reasoning is!"

Elphaba suddenly glared at him, intensely. "We have enough food, and Rats help us with weeds! Why do you want them to die?"

"They are not of your concern, nor mine," Frex said angrily, narrowing his eyes right back at her challenging attitude.

"They help us."

"Elphaba, we are not having this discussion again!"

Elphaba gripped the sides of the table firmly. Nanny, who had stopped in realization that an argument was impending, was watching, wide-eyed.

". . . You can't . . . stop me from letting them be alive," Elphaba said, bravely, though her voice faltered a bit on the end.

"Elphaba," Nessa squeaked, frowning. She did not want to see her sister be punished.

"You will tell them to remove themselves from this house, or I will poison them myself," Frex said sternly. Nessarose felt her chest flutter in anxiety; her gaze darted to her sister's hands. They were shaking.

"Elphaba, please," Nessa tried again, knowing what was coming . . . she could feel something off . . . Elphaba was angry . . . _please, please, let her magic die_ . . .

"No!" Elphaba suddenly yelled in response, and a crack was heard as she stood up and stormed out of the room, striding up the stairs. The plates rattled; smoke filled the kitchen. A glass flew at the wall and shattered. Nanny gasped; Frex darted up from his chair and froze. Though Elphaba had exited the room and the spell had come just as quickly as it had gone with her departure, Frex remained motionless, watching the spot in amazement.

Nessarose's heart slowed as the smoke cleared. She looked down and saw that a shard of glass had stuck itself into the side of her elegant skirt. The fabric was torn, but her skin was not. Feeling strangely, she reached down to pluck it out, and flicked it across the floor.

Oh Elphaba . . . she thought, a bit bitterly. What were they to do now?

"I want her down here," Frex suddenly commanded in a low, menacing voice. Neither Nanny nor Nessarose moved; not that Nessarose could rise, anyhow. They simply looked from him, to each other, and back to him.

"Now!" He growled, and Nanny immediately set forth to fetch Elphaba.

"Father, please, don't be mad with her," Nessarose said, calmly. "She can't control it."

"You knew about this?" Frex asked; his face confused, and, perhaps, a bit angry.

"Yes. She . . . it only happens when she's angry," Nessarose frowned; bit her lip again - a quirk. "Please, make it stop," she asked of him, surprised at her own tone. She was helpless, of course; raised and taught by him no differently. What could she do?

Frex sighed and sank into his chair, messaging his temples.

"Where did I go wrong with her, Nessarose?"

Nessarose could not answer. She couldn't. She didn't see anything wrong with Elphaba. But as she glanced down at herself and peered at her own useless legs, wrapped elegantly in a skirt and genuine material silk . . . forever cursed to stagnancy no matter how luxuriously they were dressed . . . she remembered how he had taught her not to deal with this, but instead, to rely on the sister that he felt went so wrong.

Nessarose could not help feeling that it was her that was wrong. But he would never see that. Somehow, she knew he would never see that. She loved him for it, but it was hopeless just the same.

"I don't know, Father."

She could not bear to bring herself to disagree with him. Her love for him; her love for Elphaba. It tore her; ate her up, constantly, every day of her life. It was all she knew, and all she could hang onto.

It was all she had.

* * *

That night, after everything had finally calmed, Nessarose was allowed to see Elphaba again. Frex stalked out of the room after hours, looking exhausted, defeated, and worse for wear. A bit disapproving of Elphaba's short temper herself, Nessarose nodded to Nanny.

"Wheel me in, please."

The old woman did as she was told, and left her there, retreating into the darkness. Nessarose felt her frown grow ten times bigger at the sight.

Elphaba was sitting on her bare bed, her lanky build hanging over the edge, her head toward the ground, eyes closed, unmoving. She did not say anything to acknowledge Nessarose's presence at first; she simply opened one eye upon hearing her enter, tilting her head slightly toward the door.

"You didn't try very hard," Nessarose said, but gently.

When Elphaba finally spoke, her words were curt and breathy.

"I'm sorry."

Nessarose, clutching her skirt, swallowed, and held her neck up high. Her first instinct was to chastise Elphaba. _ "See, I told you, you shouldn't have gotten angry . . . you let your recklessness get the best of you . . . "_ but she could not; Elphaba looked shockingly pained, and what mattered most to her was finding out why. She spoke to her instead in the most soothing tone she could manage. It wasn't easy. She channeled Father, when he spoke to her about how she was just as beautiful as all the rest, and how she was no different, and how anyone who had treated her as though she was lower was in the wrong . . .

"Are you alright?"

Elphaba didn't speak. She closed her eyes and shifted her head away again, letting a long sigh escape from her nostrils.

"Father . . . said he isn't going to send me to school," she finally answered, stiffly.

"W-Why?"

"I'm too _dangerous_," she spat, and then opened her eyes, looking her sister in the face at last. "I can't 'control' my actions. I can't 'understand' my consequences."

Nessarose said nothing; her words were too busy being caught in her throat.

"Also, he hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," Nessarose assured firmly.

"No, he does," Elphaba said this calmly, as if admitting it was as painless as picking flowers. "It's okay. I don't care."

"Elphaba, he doesn't hate you. He loves you. He worries about you."

Elphaba snorted. "Please. He only worries about you. He worries about me because he needs me to be around to worry about you."

Nessarose felt pinched, but she couldn't pinpoint why. Statements like that always made her feel . . . helpless . . . more helpless than she already was.

"I don't mind, though," Elphaba finished. And, Nessarose realized, she really seemed as though she did not. "I suppose I wasn't all that expectant to go to school anyway. I didn't think he'd send me when he said he was in the first place."

"You're smart," Nessarose said simply.

"But I'm not father smart. I don't agree with him. That means I lack intellect."

Nessarose did not know what to say. Surely, Elphaba had put herself in this situation . . . but, perhaps, their Father would cave when he wasn't as angry . . .

"Just control your magic, Elphaba. Then you can go."

Elphaba smirked and shook her head. So naive. "It's too late for that. The damage is done. You know father, once he makes up his mind."

And Nessarose did.

"You can still go, though," Elphaba said, looking at her sister. "He'd never dare not to send you somewhere to better yourself."

Nessarose suddenly realized, with a panic, that Elphaba was right. But how would she go without her sister?

"I . . . who will . . . Elphaba, I can't go without you."

"Yes you can," Elphaba said, a bit more gently.

"No I can't!" Nessarose suddenly cried out, sounding more shrill than she expected; at Elphaba's raised brow, she calmed, embarrassed. "No. I can't," she repeated. "We'll have to talk to Father. Perhaps you'll get to the university after all, when I can go."

Elphaba seemed to be contemplating this.

"I'll talk with him," Nessarose decided, firmly, assuming an authoritative tone.

"Well, now I'm hopeful. He listens to you," Elphaba had sounded sarcastic, but there was truth in her words; Nessarose was their father's little pet; they both knew it.

They fell into a silence for a while. It was a comfortable one; Elphaba and Nessarose always held such an understanding for the other's persona that silences were rarely awkward, if at all.

Nessarose was the first to break the silence.

"Elphaba?"

"Hm?" Came the response; the other was staring out the window at the moon.

"Do you ever think about falling in love?"

The older Thropp slowly looked at the other, surprised at the question. She frowned, and then shook her head.

"No . . . that doesn't interest me."

"Oh."

Elphaba narrowed her eyes. "And you?"

"Yeah. I mean, no, it doesn't interest me either," Nessarose lied. Elphaba blinked and then turned back around, staring out the window once more as if the question had never been asked.

And just as well, Nessarose thought, for what kind of person would ever love someone who couldn't even walk?


	3. Our Days at Dear Old Shiz

And so they grew up together, the two sisters, as different as they held in coexistence. Elphaba came of age - time went on. Nessarose came of age - their father confirmed his permission for them to attend school, changing their lives forever. Away from home. Nessarose seemed nervous with the impending huge transition - Elphaba, however, handled it extremely well.

They prepared themselves for Shiz University. They purchased books, clothes . . . made plans. Nessarose studied the texts off and on again, but the subjects seemed involved and extremely difficult, so she often had to take breaks. She always found herself wanting to ask Elphaba questions, but even spending time with her was difficult - Elphaba's nose was always buried in a book nowadays. She seemed as though she never stopped reading them.

On the day of departure, as they rode the train, Nessarose felt as though she would burst at the seams with questions, but couldn't bring herself to say a word. She simply sat in silence, her hands resting gently and primly on her lap, staring ahead of her in a daze of thoughts. Elphaba sat beside her in the carriage, staring out the window at an angle, her head resting against the glass. Nessarose wondered if she was just as nervous as she . . .

_But no, Elphaba was so much stronger than she; she never got nervous._

* * *

They arrived, right on schedule, and too soon for Nessarose's liking at that. "Elphaba, could you kindly get my bag?" She asked as they departed the train, for Frex was lagging behind and was not nearby to comply with her request. She would have gotten it herself, but it was on the ground just a few inches shy of her reach. Elphaba seemed not to hear, however, and was instead turned away, looking at her surroundings in what could only be awe. Nessarose had never seen such raw emotion on her sister's face before . . . well, not _often_ before.

"Elphaba," Nessarose tried again, and Elphaba turned her head at last, complying with the request upon realization. Bending down, she clutched her green fingers around the silver handle, lifted the bag, and then placed it gently into Nessarose's lap, where she was able to embrace it.

"Thank you," Nessa said, a soft smile on her features. Elphaba gave a curt nod. Lowering her voice, Nessarose leaned toward her. "Do I look alright?"

Elphaba looked her sister in the face, and nodded again. "You look fine, Nessa."

"There you are," interrupted Frex, who had approached the two at last from the first-class carriage, causing Elphaba to straighten immediately. He had a box tucked beneath his arm, and was dressed in his finest attire; a maroon, sequined shawl that showed off his ranking. "I am sorry for leaving you, Nessa; I had a run in with a Goat sitting across from me, intelligent creature, but a bit sore about things… he seemed to want to chat-"

"It's okay, Father," Nessarose cut him off. "I was quite alright."

Frex smiled, moving to stand alongside her. He placed a hand on her shoulder. Nessarose smiled tenderly in return, clutching the hand with one of hers.

"Your big day, my dear. Do you feel accomplished?"

Nessarose continued to smile, but something had stolen it from her eyes at that question.

"I do."

"As you should," he said, patting her shoulder with the hand. "You have always been such a wonderful young woman, Nessa. I know you will not disappoint me."

It was meant to be a compliment; something to give her inspiration; but Nessarose only felt pressure at such a heavy statement.

"Shiz University is one of the finest schools in Oz," Frex continued, staring ahead at the looming building. "You will be happy here. Your full potentials will be realized; you shall make a great leader in the future-"

He continued, and Nessarose, still smiling, began to tune him out. Her eye had instead fallen on Elphaba, whom, dressed in a blue suit, her hair tied back in a long braid and wearing her signature, oversized boots, had attempted to shake hands with some passerby. Alarmed at her appearance, however, they had backed up slowly and refused. Elphaba watched them leave, narrowed her own eyes, and lowered her green hand. Nessarose couldn't help but feel a bit badly; Elphaba had never been a social type, and it was rare for her to try in the first place . . . but she had to admit, the scowl on her sister's face may have startled her were she a stranger, too. The green woman turned on her heel and strode toward the center gate. She seemed more anxious to get there than the both of them.

"I - " Frex suddenly lifted his head and glanced toward her, "where is your sister going . . . Elphaba!" He called out, sternly, beginning to stride after her. He stopped himself; realizing Nessarose was still there, and, his face softening, retraced his steps to grab hold of her wheelchair and push her after his eldest daughter.

* * *

The trip inside the university for the first time had been a blur to Nessarose. They had lost Elphaba on the way to the greeting hall, but it was of no consequence; Frex seemed relieved to be rid of her. Nessarose, however, was more anxious without her. They were two of a pair, Nessa and Elphaba; when she walked with her, at least she could not deduce whom others were staring at . . .

But, now, with only her father alongside, Nessarose could feel the eyes as fervidly as a blaze. She wondered just how many asked themselves what had left her disabled . . .

As they approached the elegant archway, Nessarose swallowed, and swore she felt a tingle in her legs. "I can't do this," she thought, suddenly wanting to back out and never return. "I can't." Perhaps, if she just closed her eyes gently and pretended she was running amongst fields of corn and tall grass in the summer . . .

But she saw Elphaba.

Elphaba, ahead, her back turned, standing close to a large array of students. It was in that moment that she knew she would be alright; she did not need those imaginary meadows. Elphaba wasn't going to leave her side.

Frex stopped her, allowing her a moment to admire the great Hall.

"What?" Elphaba's strong voice suddenly cut through, and she jerked her head to look from one side to the other of the students. Surprised, Nessarose watched. "What are you looking at?" Nessarose blinked, holding back a sigh. She knew that voice; she knew that expression.

Elphaba's face fell from obvious vexation to sarcastic coyness, and she let her hands fall beside her. "Ah, do I have something in my teeth?" Elphaba smirked, unpleasantly. "Let's get this over with, then. No, I'm not seasick; yes, I've always been green . . . no, I did not chew grass as a child."

Nessarose wanted to call out to her, to remind her to control her snark, but Frex beat her to it.

"Elphaba!"

Elphaba turned her neck at last; she hadn't realized they'd arrived. Nessarose met her sister's eyes, about to ask what she was doing, but Elphaba continued before she could say a word. "This is my younger sister, Nessarose," Elphaba said, pleasantly, and leaned forward, taking a few steps toward the wheelchair. She put her arm out, motioning at her subject.

"As you can see, _she_ is a perfectly normal color."

Nessarose closed her eyes and took a sharp breath in. Good impressions were so lost on Elphaba. Why had she _already_ made a spectacle of the both of them within moments? Her hopes of integrating as smoothly as possible were shattered in record time; she should have expected no less.

"Elphaba!" Frex hissed angrily, striding forward and grabbing her arm, jerking it more roughly than needed. Elphaba complied, bitterly. "Stop making a spectacle of yourself!" He brought her aside. "Do you think you're clever, when you say stupid things like that; when you draw attention to yourself?"

"No," Elphaba mumbled. Nessarose, too, knew that was not her reasoning. Elphaba held the same sentiment she did; she was _sick_ of people paying attention to her for her abnormality. She was just much more upfront about it.

"Well, straighten up. To be here is a privilege, NOT a right." Frex narrowed his eyes, still looking firmly at Elphaba over the crow of her nose. "I'm only sending you to this school for one reason-"

"I know, I know." Elphaba said, softly. "To look after Nessa."

"Right," Frex glared. "And you will do well to remember that." Slowly, he tore himself from her and then looked to Nessa, a smile growing.

". . . Father?" Nessarose asked hesitantly, torn between the desire to find out what he was up to and to reach out and clutch Elphaba's hand - but Elphaba did not seem particularly phased; she was used to this sort of scene by now. Frex, on the other hand, was pulling out the box he had tucked beneath his arm.

"To my precious Nessarose," he continued. "I had been wondering when the right time would be to give this to you, and now it appears to be so. A parting gift." Nessarose saw Elphaba peer at him suddenly from the corner of her eye.

"Now, Father," she hadn't expected nor wanted a gift, and to flaunt it in front of Elphaba . . . oh, but they were _beautiful_! A glimmer of brilliant silver, no doubt handcrafted and woven by the finest glassblowers of Quadling country, and Nessarose found herself looking upon the most stunning pair of slippers she had ever seen. "Jeweled shoes!"

Frex smiled, satisfied with her reaction. "As befits the future governor of Munchkinland." He handed them to her, gently, and she took them with pride, unable to tear her gaze away. They were so brilliant and clear . . . she could see her reflection in them, as if they were showing her herself, but for once from luxurious, flawless perspective . . .

"Elphaba," Frex said, turning to her, and Nessarose looked to them, pleasantly surprised. It was only right, after all . . . Elphaba was peering into the box; although trying to be conspicuous, Nessarose almost laughed at the excitement present in her eyes.

But Frex slammed it shut as suddenly as he had addressed her, his smile immediately vanishing. "Take care of your sister."

Elphaba lowered her head; Nessarose felt something in her chest tug, but she could not truly grasp the nature of the feeling. She responded, half-heartedly, to her father's kiss on the forehead, but watched Elphaba as soon as he pulled away.

"And try not to talk so much," he glared, fiercely.

Elphaba looked up and met his eyes, raising a brow at him - the same challenging expression she had given him the night they had discussed the Rats so many years ago. But Frex hadn't seemed to notice; he had stalked away quickly.

An awkward silence between the sisters - the momentarily privileged and routinely forgotten. For a moment, Nessarose didn't know what to say.

"Elphaba . . . " She tried.

"Well, what could he have gotten me?" Elphaba responded, shrugging, doing her best to mask her disappointment in nonchalantness. She bent down to put the beautiful shoes on her sister's feet. "I clash with everything."

_"Now, that isn't true,"_ Nessarose thought . . . her sister looked beautiful in dark colors, and she suited her hair very well when it wasn't tied up or bundled on the back of her neck, but she did not have time to say so, for a largely dressed woman had taken a stand in the middle of the room and interrupted their conversation.

Madame Morrible, Headmistress of Shiz University. Big was Nessarose's first thought. Unsettling was her second. But perhaps she wasn't being fair. She spoke, her voice booming and powerful. Nessarose sat obediently, listening to what her Headmistress had to say.

Some others, however, were not as polite.

A blonde girl - very pretty, very bubbly, very . . . what was the word . . . dynamic, perhaps? - Nessarose thought that would be a watered down way of describing her - had approached, and was discussing rooming in a private suite, very loudly, in fact, correcting the Headmistress about her situation. Nessarose furrowed her brow at the student - Galinda, she was called - but for some reason, found herself unable to look away, despite disapproving of such behavior. There was some sort of charm about her.

It was her confidence, her smile. Her admirers.

Nessarose could never be as such.

"Coming through, coming through," Elphaba said suddenly as she pushed her to the front, pulling Nessarose from her thoughts. Everyone complied immediately, jumping out of the way of the wheelchair. "Madame," Elphaba said, "we have not yet received our rooming assignments."

"Oh yes, yes, of course," Morrible said without really looking, turning her body toward them. She appeared to be too preoccupied with her transcript . . . even Galinda was standing across, pouting at the lack of attention.

She lifted her glance at last, and a look of pleasant surprise graced her features as she met Nessarose's irises. "Oh! You must be Miss Nessarose. The governor's daughter."

Nessarose nodded, but despised the fact that she knew so just because of the wheelchair.

"What a tragically beautiful face you have!"

It was a compliment . . . she thought? This woman was . . . different. Complying, Nessarose smiled, but couldn't bring herself to thank her at the strange wording. It was of no consequence, however; Morrible had already adjusted her spectacles and was looking at Elphaba.

"And… you must be?"

"I'm Elphaba," Elphaba said flatly. "I'm _beautifully tragic_."

Nessarose kept herself from laughing, but it was hard.

"I see," Morrible said, either not understanding the sarcasm or indifferent to it. "I'm sure you're very bright."

Elphaba seemed surprised. She was not used to compliments.

"Bright?" Nessarose heard Galinda snicker to the group that had gathered around her, loudly enough for the two sisters to hear. "She's phosphorescent!"

Laughter echoed, but Elphaba ignored the comment . . . or, perhaps, hadn't heard. She was trying fervently to look over Morrible's shoulder at the transcript she held, to see if their names were assigned to room together.

"I don't seem to have you on my list," Morrible said, without any trace of apoplectic nature. "Never mind, not to fret; we'll find some place to put you."

Elphaba furrowed her brow in concentration.

"Now, which one of you would volunteer to room with Miss Elphaba?"

Without a moment's hesitation, Galinda stepped forward. "Madame Morrible, I-"

"Oh, thank you dear, that's very good of you," Morrible interrupted, clasping her hand.

_No! What? Elphaba was leaving her? Galinda wanted to room with_ Elphaba?

"What?" Galinda asked, confused, scrunching her nose.

"Miss Elphaba," Morrible said, as though she was annoyed at having to repeat herself. "You may share with Miss Galinda."

Both looked so pained, Nessarose thought Elphaba might hurl. "Wait!" They said, simultaneously.

"The governor made his concern for your sister's wellbeing quite clear, let me assure you. I thought it would be best if she share my private compartment, then. Where I can assist her as needed . . ."

Nessarose wanted to protest, wanted to say no, that it was Elphaba, Elphaba she wanted as help, Elphaba who should walk her through this process . . . it had always been Elphaba . . . but she couldn't - she felt like an object, a toy, something they were fighting about in front of her, as if she was useless. She stayed quiet.

"I've always looked after my sister," Elphaba said, stubbornly.

Morrible ignored the comment, and instead, taking Nessarose by surprise, began to wheel her away. "Everyone, to your dormitories, please. I'll want you up bright and early for tomorrow's advents."

"But Madame-"

"It's alright, Elphaba," Nessarose said, suddenly sensing the raising urgency in her sister's voice. She knew what could happen. Though she had sworn not to . . . she knew that tone of Elphaba's voice . . .

"Let her **go**!" Elphaba suddenly commanded, and a loud crack, followed by smoke and screams, filled the Hall. Everyone ducked for cover. Nessarose felt herself being propelled back, out of Morrible's hands, against her will, and tried to struggle.

"Elphaba, no!" She protested, angrily.

By the time she reached her sister, Elphaba looked much less angry and more concerned over what she had done. Nessarose closed her eyes; wanted desperately to disappear.

"Elphaba," she said, shakily. "You told me . . . when we came here, things would be different. You swore not to let this happen again!" That magic had brought her nothing but trouble and Nessarose could not bear it. She could not bear seeing her sister's recklessness ruin her life any longer!

Elphaba lowered her gaze toward the floor, but said nothing.

"How did you do that?" A shaken Morrible asked, suddenly striding toward the both of them. Nessarose held her breath. _Here we go . . . my sister is about to be chastised again . . . I will have to watch my poor sister be punished, be kicked out . . . it was a good few hours . . . _

Elphaba stiffened, still trying not to meet her gaze. "Something just . . . comes over me, sometimes," she said truthfully. "I am sorry."

Nessarose nodded.

"Sorry? My dear, never apologize for talent!"

Elphaba's head snapped up; she furrowed her brow. Nessarose found herself just as surprised. Talent?

"Have you ever considered a career in sorcery?" Morrible continued, seemingly more excited than afraid.

"Well, I . . . no," Elphaba said.

"I shall tutor you myself, then, and take no other students!" She began pushing Nessarose away immediately after her bold statement, leaving Elphaba standing there, stunned. Nessarose could not believe it.

"Wait!" Nessarose said, but Morrible did not seem to hear her.

"What?" She heard Galinda echo, and honestly felt that nothing was more appropriate than that reaction.

A talent. Nessarose had always witnessed things being hurt at the hands of Elphaba's power back at home; her father had always scorned it deeply, and it had done nothing other than get her into trouble. She had always thought it something her poor sister was cursed with . . . something more she had to deal with between the two, and their father always treated it as something that needed to be repressed should Elphaba have any worth at all. Never would she have thought it was a talent in the eyes of the outside world. So this is what it was like out here . . .

Talent.

* * *

That night, in her dormitory, alone, Nessarose found herself wide awake, plagued with insomnia. The curtains were drawn and the room was lit by a lone candle in which she had neglected to blow out.

A talent.

She stared at her hairbrush, resting on the nightstand at the edge of her bed. Ever since she had heard those words, she wondered . . .

If her sister was magic, perhaps she held an inclination . . . though one she could repress . . . it never hurt to try . . .

Concentrating heavily, she stared at the brush, trying to move it, trying to knock if off of the table with nothing but her mind. She narrowed her eyes, furrowed her brows, began to feel a tingle . . . her head began to hurt a bit, and everything transitioned to tunnel vision, where the edges became blurry and she could focus on nothing but the hairbrush . . .

And suddenly, it moved! It moved, slightly, and Nessarose was startled by it so strongly that she snapped out of her state. She was panting and sweating, she realized. Immediately, she felt herself feeling guilty. She wanted to try again, but was unable to delve into something so strongly opposed by her father . . . she was betraying him. She felt horrible.

After that night, she never picked up a spell book again. Let Elphaba do the magic. She wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to harness her own ability if she did.


	4. Boq

Shiz University had turned out to be less than what Nessarose expected, in a slightly good sense. As time went on, everything became less overwhelming. She was tended to by Madame Morrible's assistants left and right, making her transition much easier . . . though she was indifferent to this aid; she missed Elphaba's brisk yet understanding way of doing things. But her sister was still nearby - the two shared mostly every class.

Classes were not difficult. Nessarose was studious and always kept up with her work, but she preferred to stay on the sidelines whilst doing so, much more so than Elphaba, whom rang out with her opinionated debacles whenever something was amiss. Elphaba had the (sometimes) envious gift of saying whatever she thought was right, and standing by it, uncaring of how she would be perceived by others. And really, how could she care? After all, being green for so many years must harden a person, Nessarose thought, though when she looked down at her legs once again during a history class with Dr. Dillamond, she wondered why she could not say the same . . .

Still, she did not yearn to be exactly like Elphaba. She admired her for her courageous nature, her morals - and Elphaba had something she truly looked up to - a sense of self, an emotional shield, if you will, that had left her accepting of how differently she appeared. Nessarose admired that, but she found it ignorant, too; how could anyone overcome abnormalcy if they succumbed to it? Her sister was foolish in that way. Nessarose did not have time to dabble in such trifles or be a social activist; she wanted to be normal. To be treated as an equal, without hidden pity.

More than anything, she wanted love. But she decided that, however ignorant it may be, she accept that she would never have it. She couldn't _walk_. Perhaps equality, though that was a stretch. But not love.

It was fine. Not everyone had love, and nearly no one got what they wanted anyway.

* * *

Time passed. Relationships sparked and fizzled around her. Eventually, Nessarose stopped paying attention, cursing them as silly things and finding herself happier after doing so. School became her top priority. She was calm, quiet, and made very little friends, but she did not mind this as long as she could get by. She had Elphaba, anyway.

One day, seated in the front lawn, Nessarose found herself enjoying the breeze as she read through her notes on the previous History lecture . . .

_"But would Oz collapse under the drought with a strong, sacrificial leader?" _Nessarose thought as she wrote. "_Surely not. A leader must be overbearing at times . . . a good leader has a good sense of morals and does not yield for anything . . . like Elphaba, but with more charisma . . . hm, yes, oh poor Elphab-"_

"Ohhh, Nessa!"

Nessarose almost jumped, but the voice hadn't really startled her, just surprised. She looked up, trying to see who had called, but before she could speak, she was already being turned about in her chair, wheeled back inside.

"Excuse me!" She protested, realizing at last that it was Boq, a Munchkinlander boy from her life sciences class. The one who always tagged after Galinda, Elphaba's popular roommate. What did _he_ want?

"Shh, wait until we're away from everyone - I have something to ask of you!"

"Pardon me, but I don't believe I gave you permission to take me away from there," Nessarose said, furrowing her brow irritably. She could do nothing about his intervention, of course, and that frustrated her.

Boq stopped them in a corridor, leaning Nessarose's chair up against a stone wall. "Just hear me out," he said, smiling. "So, you know the Ozdust ball tonight?"

Nessarose remained silent, still a bit irritated. She had forgotten about it.

"Well," Boq continued, when he received no response. "Galinda told me that you didn't have anyone to go with, and she thought we'd be a good match."

Nessarose opened her mouth to reply, but at first, no sound came out. "Galinda told you . . . to ask _me_?" She settled with, having flashbacks of the blonde girl, constantly making comments about her sister across the History classroom, laughing alongside Shen Shen and Pfanne. She hadn't ever really spoken to Nessarose, but she **hated** Elphaba . . . wasn't that cause enough to think she disliked her, too?

"Yeah! So, what do you say?"

Nessarose hesitated.

"But don't you like _her_?" She asked calmly, remembering how he tagged along after her entourage like a lovesick puppy. Perhaps they were only friends . . . ?

Boq seemed to stutter before he replied. "Well yeah, b-but, you know - I like you too! You're really pretty and I uh . . . I think you deserve to have a good time." He smiled, looking into her eyes. Nessarose almost shivered. "Come on. You'll have fun," he said, suddenly sounding very genuine.

Nessarose pictured herself in a dress, her hair down and luscious as she danced alongside everyone, her legs no longer a mere hindrance, the silver shoes her Father had given her gracing her feet in the moonlight . . . Boq, in a suit, just the right height for her wheelchair, handing her a bouquet . . . in love, she thought, in love . . . Nessarose had never been in love . . . but what if it could still happen?

Almost bursting with anticipation, she finally nodded, smiling. "I would love to go with you, Boq."

* * *

Later that night, Elphaba visited Nessa in her dorm, displeased with the situation.

"Galinda's using you," she had sneered. "Why can't you see that, Nessarose? She's using you to get that boy off of her back; you will only be humiliated by her."

Nessarose found herself irritated with Elphaba's egotism. Surely, just because Galinda hated **her**, she didn't have to hate Nessarose too . . . did she? To be frank, Elphaba was a bit obsessed with their feud. "Oh, come off it," Nessarose said. "She isn't that vindictive. She's just a little shoe happy, that's all. Boq seemed really excited . . . "

"Nessarose, you do not know Galinda," Elphaba continued, sternly. "I do."

"Look, everyone is going to that Ball, and now, even I. If I am to be used, so be it. But I'm not. Boq was merely too shy to ask me, but once Galinda encouraged him, he worked up the courage. Is that so difficult to believe, Elphaba? That for once, I am going to have a good time? That someone liked me, Galinda knew, and wanted me to have a good time?"

Elphaba's face softened with concern. She moved toward Nessarose and bent down to speak with her at level height. "Nessarose, for the last time, Galinda wouldn-"

"Don't you dare say another word against her, Elphaba. I'm about to have the first happy night of my life thanks to her." Elphaba seemed stunned by these words. "Yes; a fun night at last, with this boy she found for me. I only wish there was something I could do to repay her . . . "

Elphaba blinked; looked toward the floor as she took in Nessarose's words. She felt numb. Nessarose became less angry upon her reaction; she simply wanted her sister to understand . . . nothing was going to stop her from going to this Ball, from trying to be social for once in her life. For once, she could be normal . . . for once, she could have what she so wanted. "Please, Elphaba . . . try to understand." _I love you, Elphaba, but we want different things . . . _

Elphaba suddenly looked up at her sister. Their eyes met. Nessarose looked deeply into her deep, brown set irises and detected a feeling of . . . sadness, was it? She was startled by the closeness of them. She had never noticed before just how easy they made it for anyone to read her feelings.

Couldn't she see? That for once, she didn't have to take care of her? Nessarose could finally start learning to pull away from Elphaba's aid, to act for herself . . . to be an equal to everyone else.

And Elphaba nodded curtly, clasped her hand, and got to her feet.

"I do."

* * *

The ball turned out to be not as perfect as Nessarose dreamt. Boq had turned up at her dorm, dressed nicely and looking shaven, smiling, and he had taken her like a gentleman, but something about it had been . . . not electric. Nessarose wondered if all love started out this difficult. He was not easy to talk to - of course, Nessarose was not used to talking to anyone but Elphaba or her Father, but Boq seemed distracted for most of the night. She realized all too early on that his eyes never left Galinda, whom looked cutesy in her pink, frilly dress, and was having a great time with Fiyero, the handsome transfer from Winkie Country.

As they stood off to the side, drinking sparingly, Nessarose attempted to make conversation. She cleared her throat. "What's in the punch?"

"Lemons, and melons, and . . . pears." Boq said, without looking at her.

Nessarose looked into her glass, suspiciously, and then pushed it away. Ick. "Oh my."

Boq, still looking to Galinda, finally turned his gaze to her. "Listen, Nessa-"

"Yes?" She asked, straightening her posture, afraid of what was coming.

"I've . . . got something to confess. Look, the reason I asked you here tonight . . . I well . . . I know, i-it isn't fair . . . "

Nessarose knew it. He was just someone else who had felt sorry for her . . . someone else who hadn't really felt anything for her but sympathy. She knew his heart was really set on Galinda; she had just been fooling herself. Curse her for being so naive . . .

"I know why," she interrupted softly.

"You do?" Boq asked, sounding incredibly sorry.

"It's because I'm in this chair, hm? And you felt sorry for me."

Boq didn't answer.

"Well, isn't that right?" She pushed. It was everyone's reasoning, after all.

"No! No," he said, flustered. "It's not that, it's really not . . . "

"Then why?" Nessarose asked, challengingly.

"It's because . . . because . . . " He scratched the back of his neck, then looked back up at her. "Because you are . . . so . . . beautiful."

Nessarose was stunned. She hadn't expected that answer, and, now that she had received it, felt as though she could burst with happiness. Beautiful! He thought she was beautiful! A Munchkinlander thought she was beautiful?

"Oh, Boq, I . . . I . . . thank you. Thank you, for being so wonderful," she said, a genuine smile forming on her lips.

Boq, who seemed uncomfortable but happy in a strange way, moved toward her, a crooked smile on his lips. "You know what?" He asked, suddenly energetic, grabbing the handles of her chair. "Let's dance."

"WHAT?" Nessarose asked, her heart leaping with nervousness. Dance? She couldn't dance! What was he saying - she would look ridiculo-

But somehow, he spun her, her twirled her, he took her hands and danced with her, made her dance . . . made her feel as though she was actually dancing . . . Nessarose, uneasy, looked around her, and saw everyone . . . everyone around her, moving in sync with her chair, moving in sync with her . . . she was dancing, she was really dancing, somehow . . . suddenly, she smiled, and felt herself laugh . . . she let go, she could do this! She could be an equal! That was the key! Love. Love was the key to equality . . .

And they danced for a long time, in the Nessarose and Boq fashion, and she had never felt so exhilarated in all of her life. The silver on her feet gleamed as she spun, as Boq moved around her . . . he, too, looked happy, and they both smiled at each other, thankful for this night . . . Nessarose knew, in that very moment, that love was not far around the corner . . .

"Hey - isn't that your sister?" He suddenly asked, stopping, and everyone gasped. Nessarose heard screaming. Everyone dove for cover, pushing her away.

"Hey!" She said, struggling. "Hey!" She couldn't see; everyone was going so quickly. Finally, as students fell away from the center, she caught a glimpse: Elphaba. Yes, it was indeed Elphaba, standing at the top of the stairs, looking terrifying in a tall, black hat and dress.

_Oh no,_ Nessarose thought. _ Oh no, oh no, oh no. _

Elphaba, ignoring the eyes stubbornly, began to dance by herself in the middle of the floor. No music. Nothing. Nobody danced with her. Nobody moved. Nobody knew what to do . . . Nessarose felt her heart sink. People began to snicker.

Who had given her that ridiculous hat?

"What's she doing?" Boq asked, uneasily.

"I don't know. I'm going to go talk to her - " Nessarose said, and began wheeling herself forward. Suddenly, however, she was cut off by Galinda, who was, of course, without a wheelchair and much faster than she.

Nessarose watched, stunned, as Galinda began to dance alongside Elphaba. Was this a trick? Were they planning this all along? Nessarose thought they had hated one another, but perhaps the close proximity of rooming had finally drawn them together . . . Galinda had, after all, given her a Ball date . . .

Everyone began moving, hesitantly, beside the two. Elphaba was unsafe, but Galinda? If Galinda was doing it, it must be the right thing to do . . .

And so they danced, Shiz University, to the beat of Elphaba's drum, and Nessarose found herself beaming with a sense of pride that she felt was only achieved in fairy tales. She had never seen her sister this happy. _She_ had never been this happy!

"She's really got a thing for dancing, who knew?" Boq asked as he met up alongside her again, grinning. Nessarose laughed, and then took his hands.

"Not me," she said. "Come on, let's dance some more."

And they did.

It was the last happy day Nessarose Thropp ever had.


	5. Departure of a Sister

Nessarose began to see a lot more of Galinda after that night. The five of them - Elphaba, Galinda, Fiyero, Boq and herself - all ate lunch together in the courtyard every day at mid afternoon. Galinda always had some interesting new gossip to chat about - gossip in which Nessarose listened to politely, though she did not care for such things. Elphaba, of course, was less than polite, and kept her nose buried in a book, often commenting to Galinda how pointless her 'spewing' was.

_"Now Elphie, I am only keeping you all informed! Don't be such a sourpuss! I think I sound very generous when I offer you all information for free."_

"_You sound like a yapping terrier," Elphaba had responded, taking a bite of her apple without looking up from her book, and they all had laughed at that._

The two were friends now; it was a bit of an amazement. In fact, they were quite inseparable. Nessarose never saw Galinda going anywhere without talking excitedly in Elphaba's ear. An odd pair at that, but a pair nonetheless. She liked Galinda well enough; she was funny, and always had advice on how to wear things . . . but Nessarose never went to her about schoolwork, and that was what she knew she should really worry about.

But despite herself, she had found she was worrying even more about something else nowadays . . . Boq. Ever since the dance he had become very distant, always frowning, never in the mood to talk. He watched Galinda so sadly whenever they ate lunch that Nessarose often found it hard to concentrate and keep a smile plastered on. But no, Boq loved her, she thought . . . he had asked her, he had told her she was beautiful, and she had even given him a chance to confess should he not love her . . . he hadn't seized it. So that meant he still loved her. Right?

Or had he even loved her in the first place? Nessarose bit her lip, not wanting to think about it.

If he hadn't, he was being dishonest about it. And Nessarose despised dishonesty. She despised it almost as much as pity.

_"If only I could walk," _she thought. That would make Boq happy. Boq had told her she was beautiful . . . the only problem was that she could not walk, Nessarose deduced. She could never dance and flit about in the way Galinda could.

* * *

"Are you really meeting the Wizard?" Nessarose asked, her eyes wide, causing Boq to look up from his book in equal shock. They had both been studying quietly in her dorm before being interrupted by Elphaba and Galinda, highly excitable.

"Yes, yes yes yes yes! She is! Isn't that just AMAZING? Oh, Elphie, I knew she'd be excited, I just couldn't wait to tell you!" Galinda said, jumping up and down, grasping Elphaba's arms as she did.

Elphaba shot her a glare. "Shhh! Or I'm not bringing you next time at all."

Galinda bounced down onto the bed, obediently, but grinned, staring at Elphaba mischievously as she giggled to herself. Boq watched her closely.

"Now, AS I was saying," Elphaba said, irritably, and then turned around to address her sister. "Yes. I am meeting the Wizard."

Nessarose closed her book gently. "This is because of your magic, isn't it?"

Elphaba seemed to hesitate, but did not shy away at all in her answer. "Yes," she said, nodding.

Nessarose broke into a smile, unable to help herself. All of those years of being scorned for her ability and now she was finding out what a blessing it was. "Elphaba, I'm so happy. I'm so happy you've learnt to make it work so well."

Elphaba only smiled - a rare, genuine smile - and looked to the floor. She seemed proud, for once.

Galinda kicked at the bed, unable to hold anything in for much longer. "And her train leaves tomorrow, Elphie's going to the Emerald City tomorrow! To see him! Madame Morrible was all 'he'll be expecting you, my dear!' Oooooh! I can't take it! Elphie, it's so great!"

Elphaba continued to smile. She bent down and spoke to Nessa on even level, a practiced gesture that only she seemed to perfect. "I was going to ask if you would accompany me to the station. Bring Boq, if you'd like," she said, adding it as she thought of him in the last moment, gesturing to him with her head. He gestured back, silently.

"Oh, of course, Elphaba. Of course." Nessarose clenched her hand, and smiled back. "We'll be there."

"EHEHEHEHEH! COME ON, ELPHIE!" Galinda said, jumping up from the bed and grabbing Elphaba's wrist before she could protest. "Let's go tell EVERYONEEEE WE KNOW!"

"Galinda!" Elphaba said, looking startled.

"Bye Nessa! Biq! We'll see you two dears tomorrow!" She blew them a kiss as she pushed Elphaba out the door. "Have a fabulocious night! Don't stay up too late!"

And with that, the door slammed shut. Nessarose sighed deeply, still smiling. She was happy for her sister.

"Boq?" She asked, gently.

"Y-yeah?" He asked in a small voice, as if he wasn't used to speaking with her.

"Will you kindly return back to your room now, please? I think I need some peace and quiet."

Boq nodded, and slid off of the bed.

"Do you, uh . . . need anything, before I go?"

Nessarose thought of asking him to help her out of the chair and to the bed, but decided against it. She would let Morrible's assistants do that tonight. She didn't want to appear more useless in front of him than she already felt.

"No, I'm fine. Goodnight."

"G'night," Boq said, awkwardly, and he shuffled out of the room, frowning, without a word. Nessarose watched him go.

_"If only I could walk . . . "_

* * *

They arrived a bit late the next morning, her and Boq, but that was merely because he was wheeling her so slowly. She had wanted to talk with him, perhaps try and cheer him up, get him to do something . . . but when she had turned around, his face was so unresponsive and depressive that her words had been stolen from her and she had settled with nothing, falling back against her headrest.

Her mood was heightened when she saw her sister waiting, all ready to depart in a neat, white suit. Her hair was down behind her; she looked quite nice, and Nessarose could only suspect it had been the work of Galinda.

"Remember," she heard Galinda saying as she brushed Elphaba's shoulders off. "Eye contact. Tell him how wonderful he is, Wizards love that. And be yourself . . . well . . . to a reasonable amount."

"Elphaba," Nessarose cut in, smiling softly as Boq wheeled her up to them. "I'm so proud of you. And I know father would be too." She didn't know that, in truth, but she thought it might help Elphaba all the same, for she was always sensitive on how their Father felt of her. "We're all proud. Aren't we?"

Galinda nodded fervently.

"You'll be alright," Elphaba asked, ignoring her. "Won't you?"

Nessarose opened her mouth to answer, but Galinda interrupted her.

"Oh, she'll be fine!" She said, waving a hand dismissively in front of her. "Biq will take care of her, won't you Biq?"

"Boq," Nessarose heard him say, softly. She closed her mouth, feeling terribly.

"What was that?" Galinda asked, beaming, not really listening.

"Boq. Boq, BOQ! It's BOQ! I . . . ugh, I just, I can't do this anymore!" Suddenly, he let go, striding away. Nessarose felt a pang in her chest; something she had never felt before in her entire life. What was this horrid feeling? Shouldn't she be protected from this sort of thing?

"Boq . . . " She tried, wheeling herself after him. Galinda, however, stepped in front of her.

"Nessa, dear . . . " she said, frowning. "Maybe he's just . . . not the right one . . . for you."

But no. Nessarose knew he was the right one for her - how couldn't he be? He had been the only one who would ever love her or even come close; she knew she had one shot. If it wasn't Boq, it was no one - how many of those in her condition ever even got one chance? She had come so far, she could win his love yet . . . these things just took time. Boq was perfectly right. He cared for her, he was her friend . . . he was the only one she had eyes for . . . the only one she had ever learned to have eyes for.

_"If only I could walk!"_

"No," Nessarose said. "It's me that's not right," she said, looking down at her own legs. "Elphaba," she called. "Just go. I'll be fine."

And before she could hear any protest, she wheeled herself away, out of sight. She didn't know if Elphaba had even attempted to stop her.

She realized then that she wasn't even sure which sting hurt more: the sting of Boq, or the sting of Elphaba's departure.


	6. Alone

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, SHE'S NOT COMING BACK?" Frex boomed, his mouth conjured into a horrified snarl. Nessarose shrunk back, slightly, doing her best to remain calm as she spoke.

"Father, Elphaba is gone . . . she ran off, she's a . . . she's a criminal now . . . "

"It's true," Nanny shrieked, as she came hobbling in. "It's in the blinking papers and everything!"

"Give me that!" Frex growled, snatching it from the old woman's hands. Nessarose, clenching her lips shut as tightly as they would go to avoid saying anything further, leaned forward in her chair to see the headline. Frex was staring at the front page, containing a blurry painting of a caricatured Elphaba in the signature pointed hat Galinda had given her, scowling, looking murderous . . . Nessarose did not even recognize this person . . . her sister sometimes scowled, but _never_ like that . . .

The headline read, in bold letters:

"**Wicked Witch Escapes To Western Skies, Threatens Assassination Upon Our Wonderful Wizard"**

Frex's face went white, and he fell back, against the wall, unable to keep his balance on his own. "Dear sweet Oz . . . "

As Nanny moved in to comfort him, Nessarose wheeled herself out of the room and onto the balcony. She needed to get away.

She had been sent home after Elphaba's highly publicized disappearance . . . the University had referred to it as a "leave of absence." She knew they were only afraid for her mental health. Just as well, Nessarose thought . . . Elphaba was famous now . . . an infamous terrorist overnight . . . she did not know if she could bear the University.

She wondered where her sister was as she stared at the stars . . . if she was out there, and how long she'd stray _this_ time. Elphaba would be back, she knew . . . Elphaba wouldn't leave her . . . she had, after all, always taken care of her, and Nessarose still needed her . . . she couldn't just leave her without a word, so confused, so alone?

But still, how would she come back **now**, when even the Wizard himself was against her?

"Oh, Elphaba," she said, feeling a tear fall from the corner of her cheek, wiping it away as quickly as it had come. "You foolish, foolish thing." _Come back to me._

She did not understand it. What purpose could Elphaba have? Nessarose knew her sister was no criminal; she must have a purpose! Perhaps she had lost her temper at the meeting? That was not unlikely. Why did Elphaba always put herself in these situations? She searched her mind . . . what would Elphaba flee for . . . what had always bothered her . . . what would she die for?

It suddenly clicked. Animals. This must have something to do with Dr. Dillamond. He had recently disappeared from the University, and Elphaba had been quite upset about it . . . things had been happening in Oz, to the Animals, according to her . . . perhaps now she was truly trying to play superhero after being granted the opportunity to be a martyr?

Why had she done it alone? And why, oh why, were those Rats in the manor more important than her own sister?

She waited awake that night, listening to her Father yell at Nanny until morning, waiting for Elphaba to show up in her window sill and explain everything . . . explain what she was going to do . . . tell Nessarose what she should do in turn. Elphaba always knew what to do. Nessarose knew she would not leave her in the dark; her sister loved her too much.

But Elphaba did not return.

* * *

Frex fired Nanny as time went on. He had no need for her any longer, he had said. He faced much public scrutiny; his hair turned white. He never left the house. Nessarose finished school, albeit half heartedly, for no one would so much as give her a second glance . . .

Galinda and Fiyero were hardly around, for Galinda had, instead, gained a large following and worked in close association with the Wizard. It was said her name was now Glinda, Glinda the Good, and she was on Elphaba's trail . . . how ironic, Nessarose thought, and what of this sudden falling out? There was just so much she didn't understand . . . and no one had never explained a thing.

Elphaba remained the pinnacle of the media's stories, eventually becoming known as the "Wicked Witch of the West," for that generated more buzz than "Elphaba: former Shiz student." Some Munchkinlanders even forgot her real name, knowing her first, foremost, and only as 'the Witch.' And Nessarose was 'the Witch's sister.'

On the day of their graduation, Nessarose sat alone, looking behind her to the spot Elphaba would have filled, pushing her wheelchair, were she not the Wicked Witch of the West now . . . instead, she saw Boq, who would not meet her eyes, looking forward, awaiting his name to be called without a word.

And Elphaba did not return . . .

* * *

"Nessarose! Oh, Miss Nessarose!" Nessarose heard a bit later in the day, and turned her head to peer around Boq at the high-pitched rushed voice. She found herself face to face with none other than Galinda herself, now Glinda, looking as presentable as ever with silver lacings dressing her shoulders and a long, oversized gown. She was clutching the front of her dress as she hurried up to the pair. Fiyero was behind her, lagging, looking tired. Nessarose had never seen him look so tired.

"Glinda . . . ?" Nessarose asked, a bit unsure of how to feel around the woman and equally surprised to see her. She was never around Shiz University any longer; she had already made a name for herself . . . and wasn't she now the most prominent potential enemy to Elphaba - wasn't she one of the ones so fervently on her trail? To capture and sentence her for their all-mighty and powerful Wizard?

"What are you . . . doing here?"

She noticed Boq, still holding onto her wheelchair, had swallowed at the sight of her and was staring, once again. He seemed just as surprised to see her. Nessarose forced herself not to look at him. Frowning, she craned her neck to look up at Glinda instead, who, now out of breath from the toil over, was fanning herself.

"Oh, Fiyero and I thought we might find you here," she said between gasps. "Woo. We just wanted to wish you congratulotions on your graduation."

Nessarose looked to Fiyero, who gave a slight nod, but seemed to be lost in thought, and then back at Glinda. "Hm. It's your's too."

"Yes, well, Shiz and I are on a bit of a . . . tight relationship nowadays," Glinda said, taking one last large breath and then catching it. She gave a pretty smile. "It's been too long, Nessa dear."

"Indeed . . . " Nessarose said, amazed at how much she had changed in just a few short years. How much Fiyero had changed. How much they had all changed . . . all of them but her. She was still the same useless girl, now a woman, in her chair; the watcher, not the doer. Not like Glinda the Good.

Suddenly remembering her title, she furrowed her brow. Why was she even speaking with her? "You work with the Wizard now."

"Well, I - " Glinda said, smirking uncomfortably and looking to the side, as if the question was silly. "Yes, I do, darling, but that is no cause for me to skip out on my dear friend's graduation!" Nessarose did not respond; dear friends, were they? As far as she had recalled, she and Fiyero had left her in the dark all the same. She thought that the whole aptitude Glinda held was positively fake, and could not bring herself to join in. This was a different person now.

But something else was on her mind . . .

Her sister. The one she was beginning to resent, quite strongly, in fact.

"Have you seen Elphaba?"

Glinda, suddenly appearing much more surprised, looked to Fiyero. Her features fell, and she shook her head.

"No."

Her tone had become so much less excitable. She had dropped her public persona.

Nessarose looked blankly toward the distance, avoiding her eyes. On one hand, she supposed it was good; Glinda was her sister's enemy now, she supposed. On the other . . .

"Does she live?"

Glinda clenched her jaw and looked directly in the other direction, lifting her neck, as if she knew something more. She nodded. "Oh, she lives. She lives, alright."

"What does the Wizard want of her?" Nessarose asked, suddenly sternly, demanding, glaring at the Good Witch. Glinda, coming out of her trance, returned her gaze to the other, her face equally unamused.

"That is a matter I cannot disclose. Elphaba is out there, that's all I know for sure. We are working hard to find her - let me assure you most graciously - and to bring peace to this Oz in essence."

"In turmoil," Fiyero sniffed, echoing in.

"SLIGHT turmoil," Glinda corrected.

Nessarose said nothing; she did not like her tone. But something about what she was saying seemed . . . different. She could not decipher it. Glinda had gotten tricky in her years; she was growing to be quite the politician.

A shifting in the distance; Nessarose could hear some cheering. Students were celebrating their accomplishments. A year ago she would have longed to join them. Now, she was too numb to care.

After a bit of an awkward silence, Glinda regained her smile and straightened her posture. "Well, dearest; best be on our way! Fiyero and I are busy busy busy with the preparations! Just thought I would drop in, see if you were still holding."

"Hm. Yes," Nessarose said, tiredly. _How good of you,_ she added in her mind sarcastically.

Glinda turned to Fiyero and took his hand. "Come along, I don't think Miss Nessarose wants to talk to us."

They turned to leave, giving a quick, awkward nod to Boq. And though it was true in a sense; Nessarose had been surprised Glinda had even shown up at all . . . she wondered.

"Glinda," Nessarose called; Glinda turned back around, her face questioning.

Nessarose closed her eyes, sighed, and then looked at the ground before continuing.

"Please. Find her. Just find her. I don't care what you do, just . . . find her."

Glinda, looking a bit shocked, and dare she say, sympathetic, let go of Fiyero's hand and walked gracefully back to Nessarose's side. She placed a gloved hand on her shoulder and bent down to speak.

"Don't worry," she said in a breathy tone, just loud enough for her to hear. Straightening up once more, without elaborating, she turned to leave again. "Keep in touch, my dear. We can be friends again; certainly this falling out does not have to affect us."

Nessarose said she would.

They did not keep in touch. It was the last time the two women ever saw each other.

She decided she would let Boq go, too. She could not trouble him anymore with her mixed up, highly messy life; the life that Elphaba had now cursed them all with. He seemed more than indifferent toward leaving. Perhaps a bit sad; worried for her, but Nessarose could not stare into the face of pity any longer. She said her goodbye, boarded the train home, and rode in complete silence, the seat next to her completely vacant.

Frex hadn't met her at the station. He was, apparently, too weak to travel.

And, still, Elphaba did not return.

Such a bitter taste it all had.

* * *

"Father?" Nessarose asked one morning, two years after her graduation. She had wheeled into his chambers, a tray of breakfast on her lap. His face was pushed against the pillows, his eyes closed as if he were asleep, his hand hanging loosely over the edge of the bed. His fingers were not gripping something tightly in his slumber as usual. Nessarose, becoming worried, wheeled herself beside him. "Father? F-ather!" She began to shake him, receiving no response.

"Please wake up," she choked, hopelessly, knowing he would never again.

_Nessarose . . . _

The wind, slithering in from the open shutters at the foot of his bed, seemed to whisper her name. She set the tray on a nightstand and wheeled herself to his desk, looking at the mess of papers . . . her Father had once been so neat . . . almost unable to see through her tears, she picked up paper after paper, all of them articles, containing the same theme: Wicked Witch of the West. At the very bottom of the mess of propaganda, she found a black and white painting . . . squinting, her vision blurry, she realized it was a painting of her, standing next to her father . . but wait . . . that was not her . . . it couldn't be, the woman was too old, the woman didn't have a wheelchair . . . it was her mother. Melena. She looked so much like her. And yet, she saw Elphaba's eyes.

Clutching the photo to her chest, she looked back at her lifeless father, closing her mouth, letting the tears fall, making no noise as she did, not wanting to disturb the peace he so deserved at last.

_The shame had killed him, _Nessarose realized. _The shame of his eldest daughter had killed him. He had finally succumbed to the shame. _

She was suddenly angry. He could not die! How could he leave her alone? He had only been giving her governing training sessions a few times a week for short months - he could not leave her now. She wasn't ready to be in power! How could she handle anything . . . he had left her, without another word . . . she wasn't ready . . . he had left her while she wasn't ready, just like Elphaba . . .

_Elphaba_ . . . Nessarose curled her lip . . . she felt angry at that very name.

Was she happy now? Out there, pretending to be a Freedom Fighter, her green physique striking terror into the hearts of all? Out there, playing with fire, forever forgetting about her father . . . her sister.

_Are you happy now, Elphaba?_

Nessarose set the photo down atop of everything, gently, and then wheeled herself out of the room, shutting the door as if she were just letting her Father sleep in for a little while longer.

She stopped in the hallway, wiping her eyes, tucking her hair behind her ear elegantly. Enough of these foolish tears. She was the Governor now, plain and simple. There was no one there to tell her, but she knew. No. What could she do?

What would _Elphaba_ want her to do? . . .

Stand up, Nessarose realized. Take charge, herself. She was done being helpless. She was done relying on others. All they did was leave.

No, even better: she was done **letting** them leave.

It was her time now; she should have done it long ago. Nessarose was a new woman. She was Governor. What she said, went. She made the law. She made the rules. She knew what she must do, and that was to take charge and act for herself. Get what she wanted _by herself._

She knew exactly where to start.

Wheeling to her quarters, she picked up a quill and began to write.

_Master Boq,_

_I write to you in urgency. Kindly report to me at once. I am in need of you. _

_I reside still at Cowen Grounds, south of Munchkinland, in the Governor's Manor. You should have no trouble finding me. I realize we have not spoken in some time, but you are to come anyhow. _

_Do not delay._

_- Governor of Munchkinland, Nessarose T _

And still, as always, Elphaba did not return.


	7. and Loveless

"Will there be anything else, Madame?" Boq asked as he entered the room, carrying a tray and standing tall, wearing his uniform as directed.

Nessarose, sitting in her chambers as she revised her bill, turned to him, a bit surprised at the voice. She hadn't expected him to come back from brewing her tea so quickly.

"I've asked you to call me Nessarose," she said, a bit gently. "Remember?"

" . . . Yes."

Nessarose turned away once again, averting her attention back to her work.

_"Madame."_

Boq exited. Nessarose felt a sting in her chest at the venom in his words. Turning back around slowly, she sighed, her chest heaving with the motion. _Boq_ . . .

He didn't love her. She knew that. But she would get what she wanted; she hadn't been trying hard enough before - now, it was only a matter of time. She could bend things to go her way, wasn't that the way to do it? School Nessarose had been a mere submissive woman, forever feeling sorry for herself, forever holding her tongue, just like the others whom she so **hated** for doing so. She was powerful now; she was Governor, and she had written the law. She had changed the transcripts over the course of a year, forbidding anyone of munchkin blood to leave Munchkinland . . . and her ambition, her drive, her determination . . . it overshadowed her guilt . . . and whenever a shred made its way through, Nessarose pictured the young munchkin boy laughing at her so many years before . . . the one that Elphaba had turned upside down with her uncanny ability for magic, and it washed itself away . . . for what did she owe to the munchkins, anyway?

Nothing. Nothing that wasn't worth her love.

She was the Wicked Witch of the East. She would have her way.

Despite her title, she had found she was able to resist the temptation to learn magic if she kept herself away from spell books. It was difficult. She was powerful, oh yes, she was powerful, but she could be even more so with magic . . .

Still, Father would have hated it . . . and she would, in turn, hate herself even more . . .

"Well," Nessarose was pulled from her thoughts abruptly by the voice, "it seems the beautiful just get more beautiful . . . while the green . . . just get greener." It cut through the silence, darkly, out of nowhere.

Nessarose screamed as a light suddenly filled her glass wardrobe, revealing a woman in drab, her glare piercing, her skin . . . green.

It was Elphaba.

She stepped out of the wardrobe, and Nessarose felt as though she was hallucinating. _"Have I finally gone mad?" _She clutched at her own heart.

"I'm sorry, did I frighten you?" Elphaba asked. "I tend to have that _effect_ on people."

Nessarose didn't answer; she couldn't. She only stared, wide-eyed, at her aged sister. Elphaba looked much older, much thinner, and more menacing . . . her hair was tied up in a messy bun beneath the same pointed hat, her brows were darker, her nose more pointed, and she was clutching a broom as she stepped forward, likely the one she was so notorious for riding.

"It's . . . good to see you," Elphaba tried again upon receiving no answer, her tone sad.

Nessarose suddenly regained her composure and leered. How dare she show up here, now, in the home of their Father, after all these years, and act as though things could be okay?

"What are you doing here?" She asked, narrowing her eyes, her voice barely above a whisper. Finally, when she thought she had accepted that Elphaba was never coming back, she had. This was not the reunion she had wanted.

"Well," Elphaba said, appearing uneasy, folding her arms beneath her cape. She glanced around. "There's no place like home." Nessarose rolled her eyes_; ah, so her sister hadn't lost her ability for sarcasm? Good to know._

"I never thought I'd hear myself say this . . . " She began again, strangely, "but I need Father's help." Nessarose could tell by her tone that Elphaba knew just how far of a stretch her request was.

"That's impossible," Nessarose replied.

"No. It's not. Not if you ask him. You know he'll listen to you; he always has."

How dare she! How dare she come here and immediately start asking Nessarose to do something for her, after abandoning her for so many years without so much as a word! After shaming her whole family, _killing_ their father . . . how dare she!

But Nessarose couldn't feel angry. Bitter . . . yes. She had been bitter for a long time. But angry?

Not at the mention of Father. She only felt remorse.

"Father is dead," she said simply, avoiding Elphaba's gaze.

"What?"

"He's dead, Elphaba. I'm the governor now," Nessarose frowned, her face projecting a moment of weakness. She straightened up, however, glaring once again. "Well, what did you expect, after all? After he learned what you'd done? . . . He died . . . of shame."

Elphaba furrowed her brows. Nessarose continued.

"Embarrassed to death."

Elphaba didn't answer for a moment. She looked down, then back up, meeting her sister's eyes once again.

"Good. I'm . . . glad. It's better that way."

Nessarose curled her lip. "That's a WICKED thing to say."

"No," Elphaba said, hoping Nessarose would understand. "It's true. Because now it's just us. You can help me, dear sister. And together, we can-"

"Elphaba, shut up!" Nessarose saw so much red, she could barely make her sister out. Her delirious, reckless sister. "Listen to yourself! Why should I help you? You fly around Oz, trying to rescue Animals that you've never even met, and not once . . . not ONCE have you EVER thought of me, back home - not once have you EVER thought to use your powers to rescue ME!"

Nessarose felt her voice catch in her throat, but she refused to cry. She was too strong now for that.

"All of my life I've depended on you, how do you THINK that feels? In this hideous chair . . . scrounging for scraps of pity to pick up, longing to walk . . . " She grit her teeth, almost wanting to spit. "How do you think that feels?" She repeated.

She was losing her façade. She knew it. But she couldn't' help it.

"Nessa," Elphaba said, pained. She knew what she had done wasn't fair, and she had never wanted it to be this way. But she couldn't have returned . . .

"There isn't a spell for everything. This power is mysterious," she continued. Nessarose saw Elphaba's eyes fall on her silver shoes; she never took them off, not ever. "It's not like coddling up a pair of . . . "

Elphaba suddenly stopped speaking, reached into her bag, and pulled out, with slow, long, spindly fingers, what could only be a spell book. The title was ancient and woven, the pages torn. It read: Grimmerie.

Nessarose felt her eyes grow wide. No.

Not a spell book.

"Wait," Elphaba said.

"W-What are you doing?" Nessarose asked, feeling very much like a child again.

But Elphaba wasn't answering her.

Falling to the ground, her hands pressing the book open to one page, Elphaba narrowed her eyes in concentration and then began to chant, making geometric, perfect movements.

_"Am-bu-lahn-dah-re, Pah-to pah-poot Am-bu-lahn-das-ca Cal-da-pess . . . "_

"Elphaba! Stop!" Nessarose commanded sharply, too afraid to move away. "What are you doing? What does that mean?"

Elphaba continued, repeating the same motion.

_"Lau-fen-ah-to, Lau-fen-ah tum, Pe-de pe-de Cal-da-pess . . . "_

"Stop!" Nessarose continued to plead.

Elphaba suddenly reared up, directing her spell at Nessarose's feet.

_"Am-bu-lahn-dah-re, Pah-to pah-poot Am-bu-lahn-das-ca Cal-da-pess . . . "_

An overwhelming burning scorched her ankles, traveling up her legs as if it were a snake. Nessaroses's shoes, to her horror, began to emanate red light. "Ahhh!" She screamed involuntarily. "My shoes; they're on fire! Elphaba!"

And Elphaba finished her spell, leaning forward, putting her all into her chanting.

_"Lau-fen-ah-to, Lau-fen-ah tum, Pe-de pe-de Cal-da-pess . . . "_

Nessarose, before she knew what she was doing, began to stand.

She hadn't done it voluntarily; as the magic faded away it had willed her to her feet . . . pushing her up, away from her chair, and Nessarose stood, if only for a moment . . . losing her balance, twisting both ankles as her knees buckled and she fell forward, much like a baby calf who had never used its legs before in its life. Elphaba rushed to her side, holding onto her shoulder.

Nessarose was panting. She could not believe it.

She could walk.

"Finally," Elphaba said, coming out of her trance. "I've done what I should have, long ago. Finally . . ." she brought her hands up, in front of her face, "from these powers . . . " she stared at her own palms, her fingers spread, as if she could not control them. "Something good."

Nessarose couldn't think. She was overwhelmed. She could walk! She was beautiful . . . and she could walk! Why, she . . . her problems, all of her problems were solved! Instantly, the little Nessarose from Shiz University filled her insides and she smiled, drunk with power. She pushed herself off of the ground and struggled to her feet; she fell forward, and Elphaba clutched her arm, steadying her, but Nessarose shrugged her off, roughly. She was done relying on others. She had sworn this.

"No," she said. "Don't help me." _For once, don't help me . . . _

Getting to her feet, wobbly, but surely, she did what her first impulse told her to do: she called for Boq.

"Boq!" She yelled, ringing the bell that was his cue, then sitting back in her velvet chair. Elphaba panicked; her head darted around in all directions.

"Nessa, no! He mustn't know I'm here!"

But it was too late. Boq had entered. Elphaba froze.

"What is it, Madame?" Boq immediately noticed Elphaba, and he almost doubled back in fear; in shock. "Y-You!" He exclaimed, picking up a knife that had been resting on a nearby table and pointing it at her, inching closer. "What are you doing here? You stay back!"

"Boq, it's just me, you fool!" Elphaba hissed, holding her hands out in front of her, desperately trying to reason with him. "I'm not going to hurt you!"

"No! Don't LIE! That's all you ever do - you and your sister. She's as wicked as you are," Boq accused, the knife in his hand shaking, his eyes darting from Elphaba to Nessarose, pointing it at the younger Thropp. "She's responsible for the little that's left of my life," Boq continued. "Ever since she took power, she's been stripping the Munchkins of their rights . . ." He looked at Elphaba again, who hadn't moved. "And do you know WHY?"

Elphaba didn't answer.

" . . . To keep you here. With me," Nessarose cut in softly, interrupting him. Elphaba looked at her sister, puzzled, her brows furrowed above her lost eyes. "But none of that matters anymore," she continued, believing every word. "Look."

And, slowly, she rose to her feet.

Boq, too stunned to speak, dropped the knife. It made a panging sound against the wooden floor, and Nessarose felt as though she might burst with satisfaction.

"Y. . ." He looked to Elphaba. "You did this for her?"

"For both of us," Nessarose said, gently, moving forward before Elphaba could answer.

Boq suddenly smiled. It was the first smile Nessarose had ever seen on his face since the Ozdust Ball, and, in that moment, she knew she had triumphed at last. At last!

"Nessa," he said, grasping her hands as he stepped forward. "This changes everything."

"I know," Nessarose purred. Finally. She was getting what she wanted. She could walk. She was an equal.

"Surely now, I won't matter to you, Nessa . . . and you won't mind my leaving here tonight."

Nessarose couldn't believe what she had just heard. She jerked her hands away. "What? Leaving?"

"Yes . . . Glinda. Fiyero. That ball. She's engaged."

Nessarose felt so shaky at that name that she almost went numb.

"Glinda."

"Yes, that's right. Nessa, I've got to appeal to her. I've got to tell her how I feel."

This could not be . . .

"I lost my heart to her the moment I saw her, Nessa," Boq continued, sadly. He grasped her hands again, brought them close to him, and looked her in the eyes.

"You know that."

Nessarose could not speak, she could only see white dance before her eyes. Her lip quivered, but not in sadness. She looked at him; at Elphaba, who still hadn't moved an inch from her spot. Her sister did nothing but stare back, uneasily, unmoving.

"But it doesn't matter," he tried again, shaking her hands, trying to cheer her up. "You can walk now! Why should I matter to you?"

Boq was still leaving her.

Nessarose could walk.

And Boq was still leaving her.

Stripped of equality a moment after gaining it.

She could walk, and it did not matter.

She felt her breathing become heavier, and it came in spurts . . . in brisk, heavy spurts, as though she couldn't control it. Her elegant chest began to heave with emotion, and she curled her lip, lowering her head in a very Elphaba-like manner, hunching her shoulders as she spit out her next words.

"Lost your heart?" She hissed, lowly, glaring at Boq, willing him to obey her with every fiber of her being. "Well . . . we'll SEE about THAT."

She jerked away and strode toward Elphaba, pushing her out of the way, dropping down in front of the open spell book. She flipped to a random page and readied her palms, staring at the foreign words on the page.

"Did you think I'd let you leave me here **flat**?" She hissed, staring up at him. Elphaba sped toward her.

"Nessa, no, let him go; do not touch that book!"

Nessarose ignored her. "You're going to lose your heart to me, I tell you!" And she began to chant, reading the words on the page, pointing her palms toward Boq in the same way she remembered Elphaba doing so . . . but the words were difficult, foreign, hard to pronounce . . . this kind of thing took years of practice, even for a natural like Elphaba . . .

"Nessarose!" Elphaba snarled, reaching her and knocking her forward at last. "You're pronouncing them all wrong!"

"AHHHH!" Boq screamed, and then clutched at his chest. It was too late; Elphaba had stopped her sister too late. Nessarose, pushing herself off of the ground with her palms, looked to him, suddenly losing her impulsive rage. "My heart! M . . . y . . . heart . . . "

He sank into her chair, motionless.

Nessarose panicked. What had she done?!

"Elphaba, I . . . d-do something!" She screamed.

"I can't!" Elphaba sneered, getting to her feet and swiping the Grimmerie from the floor. "You cannot reverse a spell once it's been cast!"

It was all happening too quickly; Nessarose felt everything spinning, and she pushed herself to her feet. Oh, she had killed Boq. She had killed him. She had gone too far; she had no idea how to handle things on her own . . . no idea how to seize charge! Nobody had ever given her a chance, and she had too much of one now!

"So what do we do?!" She asked, panicked. Elphaba always knew what to do, but Nessa never did, she never would; she had never been given the opportunity before. Angry, desperate, not wanting to accept herself as a killer, she remembered her father's disposition toward magic and felt as though she could have never used it more . . . it was a filthy art, used only for blackness, only to lie, cheat, steal and harm . . . it was dangerous, and Elphaba would do well never to use it . . .

"This is all your fault," Nessarose said, pointing an accusatory finger at her sister, who was standing over Boq, stiff and stoic. "If you hadn't shown me that HORRENDIBLE book- " _I would have been able to control myself . . . I would have never dabbled into my magical side . . . ever . . . I have betrayed father and all he ever taught . . . I have killed Boq, my Boq, the only one I've ever loved . . . and it was all because I was too weak to resist the magic Elphaba had shoved in my face . . . _

Truly, she didn't blame Elphaba. But she had never learned how to blame herself.

"QUIET, will you?" Elphaba hissed, her face angry, and then she lowered her voice - softened her features. "I have to find another spell," she said. "Something that might work." She sounded doubtful, but she wheeled Boq behind the wardrobe anyhow . . . out of sight . . . and Nessarose, choking back tears, closed her eyes. She heard Elphaba begin to chant again.

"Save him . . . oh, please . . . just save him . . . my poor Boq . . . "

It was suddenly all she cared about. She wanted nothing more than for him to live. She loved him. She hated herself so, but she loved him. She did not care if she didn't live for another second; she didn't want Boq to die at her own hands.

"Boq . . . " Nessarose choked on her words, finally submitting to her tears. "Don't leave me . . . don't leave me until my **sorry** life has ceased," she spat out these words, thinking of her own face in the mirror, her own, pathetic, sorry face, drenched with darkness and age and bitterness . . . not beautiful, never beautiful, far from beautiful . . . "just the GIRL in the mirror . . . " _the Wicked Witch of the East . . ._ "Yes, oh yes . . . we deserve each other . . . the girl in the mirror and I . . . "

She closed her eyes and squeezed another angry tear from her iris, shaking her head. What of her life . . . what of her choices . . . she deserved her title, right down the very last syllable.

Elphaba reappeared, as silent as a stalking tigeress, looking solemn, her book tucked beneath her arm. Nessarose looked up at her, feeling pathetic.

She had lost.

"Well? What of his heart?"

"He won't need one now," Elphaba answered simply.

Nessarose didn't understand, but she accepted it anyhow.

"I have to go now, Nessarose." Elphaba pulled her to her feet; stared at her over the crow of her pointed nose. "I have business to attend to in the Emerald City."

And with that, she began to leave.

Nessarose reached for her. Not Elphaba too. Please, someone . . . she couldn't be alone any longer . . .

"Elphaba, don't leave me, please don't leave me!" She begged, hysterical. She had just gotten her back.

Elphaba turned around, gripping Nessarose's wrist, arching her neck to look her dead in the eyes. "Nessa, listen to me. I've done everything I could for you, and it hasn't been enough." She paused; watched as another large tear fell down Nessarose's cheek. " . . . Nothing ever will be."

Nessarose wanted to say it wasn't true, to tell her that she had had her all along, had love all along in her sister, equality in her sister's eyes, and that she just had been too blind to realize . . . that nothing else would matter if Elphaba would just come home . . . but she couldn't bring herself to speak, only whimper, and Elphaba slowly pulled away, letting her grip linger as she walked out of the door . . .

"Elphaba, wait!" Nessarose reached for her. "Elphaba!"

But silence filled the manor once more; Elphaba was gone.

Nessarose stood, alone, shaking . . . her red shoes glimmering like blood rubies . . . _well . . . what could she do next? _

She suddenly heard stirring behind her, in the chair, and looked, remembering Boq was still there. He's alive. He was alive.

"What . . . happened?" He asked in a sleepy voice, still out of view.

"You just fell asleep," Nessarose said, looking to the floor at her lie, tired and broken but relieved that he was alive. She didn't want Boq to leave her too.

"I . . don't rem- AHH!" He shrieked, and Nessarose whipped around. She grew wide eyed at the sight. It was not Boq who was standing there in front of her; it was a Tin Woodsman, his arm outstretched as he stared at himself, unbelieving . . . horrified . . . he fell backwards, he began to run, still shrieking . . . "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?" He screamed as he fled, and Nessarose tried to go after him, but fell against the table, realizing she had already lost . . . doubled over in pain . . .

"It wasn't me, Boq; it was Elphaba!" She yelled after him through her sobs. "It was Elphaba . . . "

But she let him go, for she deserved nothing . . . nothing but the girl in the mirror . . .


	8. The Witch is Dead

_"**Either accept the burden of leadership or turn it down, but either way, make sure it is your choice in the matter, and not an accident of history; a martyrdom by default**."_ - _Gregory Maguire, The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West_

* * *

The news of Nessarose's death had reached Elphaba a moment too late. Even Glinda had beaten her to the site; Center Munch, a bit more toward the cornfields - a place in which they, as children, had been very familiar with - and she had disgustingly taken charge of the whole situation, leaving Elphaba resenting her with every bone in her body.

She rode in on her broom, numb, angry, tired, sad . . . if that was what she could even call them any longer? She was no slave to emotion; she had, admittedly, found herself losing touch with many of them.

But as she rode in and saw the broken house, crushed on the yellow pavement . . . she realized that Nessarose was truly gone, and could not grasp the feeling.

What a strange, horrible, twisted death, Elphaba thought as she dismounted. She walked forward, hissed at Glinda . . . but what was said, she could not even remember . . . for she was staring instead at Nessarose's burial site, numb and transfixed.

_Goodbye, my Nessa. _

With Dr. Dillamond, Elphaba had fled with a goal in sight - she could fix this, it was not out of her reach. With her Father, Elphaba had been indifferent; she had returned his favor, and accepted that it could never be fixed; what difference did it make if it was? With the Animals, Elphaba could even fix that . . . but it would take time . . . or was it only that? She did not know any longer. She was losing touch with that, too.

But with Nessarose . . . she could never fix it, and she could never accept it.

The house was said to have done it, though Elphaba wasn't quite sure. She had never seen so much pain in anyone's eyes; never more than she had seen within her sister's in her last days. So strongly begging for something palpable and real . . . begging for someone, to cling to, to hold . . . but Elphaba could not give that to her, and why not? Again, she had failed, in lieu of being a martyr for her own lost causes, and for that, she fell away . . .

Nessa.

The Wicked Witch of the East.

The girl in the mirror.

She had let the pain destroy her.

Elphaba could not breathe easily; she felt her eyes burn, but fought the liquid effortlessly; was that what it felt like to cry? Strange. She approached the site, her sister's burial, a neat, conspicuous mound of dirt . . . a place no one would notice, for no one but the ostracized would ever mourn her. Elphaba stared, standing, ignoring Glinda, who was also observing. She did not care.

Nessa.

Her Nessa.

She fell, before she could stop herself; her knees buckled beneath her, and she pushed at the ground with her palms, her nose inches shy of the soil. "Nessa . . . " She said, even though she believed in a soul as much as she believed in her Father's unconditional love. "Nessa, forgive me . . . "_ I have left you, I should not have left you, I have failed you for your entire life . . . you became your caricature . . . this, too, I played part in . . . _

People only felt regret in their dying days, Elphaba realized bitterly; she had not escaped this label for sure. But the difference was that she felt it more strongly in Nessarose's; not for the first time. Regret had always carried itself when thinking of her sister. Regret. Guilt. Emptiness; longing for better.

Revenge.

That was the newest.

She looked up, toward the horizon, and remembered the shoes. That was what she had come for. And they, too, were gone, but unlike Nessarose, she could fix this . . . the red shoes, bent crimson by her own magic . . . transformed, touching upon her Father's love, somehow . . . Elphaba knew that she must have them . . . she must seize them from that _worthless_ girl who had destroyed everything in her horrible, annoying way . . .

Her name was Dorothy: her house had destroyed. She had taken her sister's shoes and gone on her merry way. But Elphaba would get them. There was nothing she wanted more than to get ahold of those shoes now, the very symbol of Nessarose . . . of their Father . . .

_She is not to be played with . . . _

And yet that was all anyone had ever done with her.

Elphaba sneered and got to her feet. Dorothy would be slain. She would kill her herself if she had to, for what kind of child would take a dead woman's shoes from her feet?

"Elphie," Glinda said, softly, from her post. "You mustn't blame yourself."

Elphaba sneered; shook her head. She blamed the pain; the pain she had been all so familiar with. She could carry it on her shoulders, but Nessarose could never escape it. Elphaba had understood only too late.

And trying to save everyone had resulted only in destroying them.

Nessarose did not understand so many things because of the love she had been blind of. Their Father had loved her, and therefore taught her nothing. Their Father had disliked Elphaba, and therefore, Elphaba had known everything.

It was the way of life.

"I want those **shoes**," Elphaba hissed, getting to her feet, staring fiercely at Glinda.

"And what will that do?" Glinda asked. "What will that do, for you? They won't make your father love you any more."

Elphaba glared at those words.

Those shoes are mine, and anyone who believes otherwise is insane, she thought.

But no matter what anyone spoke of, wrote, or stretched in the papers, the Wicked Witch of the West lost a sister that day.

She should have seen it coming.

Dorothy, however, wouldn't see anything. She would be sure of that.

* * *

_I follow her down the Yellow Brick Road, _

_chasing her down for revenge, I suppose;_

_She causes destruction where ever she goes,_

_it was her house, that killed Nessarose . . . _

Nessarose Thropp. Now nothing; not even in the mirror.


End file.
